


Deserved Follower of Fashion

by vix_spes



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Community: theoldguardkinkmeme, Established Relationship, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova are in Love, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani is an Incurable Romantic, Kink Discovery, Lace Panties, Lingerie, M/M, Post-Movie, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29568111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: Joe has both loved and loathed fashion over the years, particularly when it comes to his Nicky. This particular discovery, though? Is a pleasant surprise to both JoeandNicky.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 5
Kudos: 86





	Deserved Follower of Fashion

The thing with being over nine hundred years old is that you see a lot of change. Everything changes given enough time and time is something that you have in abundance when you’re immortal. Attitudes, morals, languages, philosophies, culture, fashion, technology. All of it changes. Morphs. Adapts. Some of it quicker than others, but everything changes eventually.

They have to change as well.

They may be immortal, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t have to change. In the aftermath of Merrick and Booker’s betrayal, they now faced a century of changing, of adapting, without him. Of adapting to being without Booker after several centuries with him there as their brother. Of adapting to the addition of Nile to their motley crew. Of helping Nile to deal and adapt to the hand that fate dealt her.

Of teaching her the skill set needed to deal with being immortal.

They all had their specialities when it came to The Old Guard. They were all talented with their weapons of choice but there hasn’t been a weapon that Andy couldn’t master in thousands of years. Languages had always been Joe’s skill, left over from his childhood upbringing as the child of a merchant. Nicky had taken to the various modes of transport with aplomb and a complete disregard for speed limits and the legal acquisition of said vehicles. He was also the only one who had seemingly endless amounts of patience which, combined with his skills as a crack shot meant that he was their sniper when necessary. Booker had proved remarkably adept with technology but, then again, Nile was a child of the technology era so it hardly mattered that Booker had been exiled when it came to that particular talent. Booker’s other talent had been forgeries and none of them were truly comfortable with the fact that they were going to have to rely on Copley for that for the foreseeable future.

And then they had their interests.

Sometimes they overlapped with their skill sets. More often than not, they didn’t. What they did have were multiple degrees each. Bachelors, master’s degrees, even a doctorate or four. It had become something of a thing every decade or so for them to go back to university and just take some time out to be normal. Or as normal as they could be given everything.

Joe has always been drawn to the arts. Even in the days of the Crusades, when he had only been known as Yusuf and could never have foreseen this future in his wildest dreams or nightmares, he had always had an artistic bent. Before he had known Nicky, before this life. He had been fascinated by poetry and stories from the instant that he could understand them at his parents' knee and had started drawing his own art as soon as he could hold a stub of charcoal. He had started writing poetry in his teens - bad poetry at that - which had improved rapidly once he discovered his muse. And stopped killing him. There are numerous works - both poetic verse and art - in various galleries, museums and collections around the world either attributed to ‘anonymous’ or whatever Joe’s pseudonym at the time was, yet all of them inspired by Nicky.

Nicky’s appreciation for art tends to run along the more musical bent in addition to cooking. There had been a few months in Italy with the Stradivari’s that would remain forever etched into Joe’s memory, as would that night with the Mozart siblings in the 1800’s that they never spoke of. In another world, Nicky could have been a world-class musician or philosopher. Instead, he was a world class chef for an audience of four.

He may not be able to fool Andy when it comes to flavours of baklava, but Nicky was an excellent chef. Indeed, he had successfully graduated from more than one course at an internationally renowned culinary school. Of course, that means that Nicky has _opinions_ on food but, well, Joe has learnt how to derail one of his rants after so many years. Nicky has always been more reticent than Joe, slower with his words but no less passionate, his love shown through acts of service. Nicky may be able to serve 5* Cordon Bleu meals, but Joe will always love it most when Nicky serves the Italian food of his childhood and the Maghrebi food of Joe’s earliest memories. Those were the meals that usually ended up with Joe unable to keep his hands off Nicky – not that he could keep his hands off his husband anyway – much to the frustration of everyone else present.

As well as art, Joe has always been interested in fashion. Certainly, more so than his colleagues. He hasn’t known Nile long enough to know her opinions; only time will tell. Booker hadn’t been so bad, but Andy and Nicky? Well, Andy only cares if she can fight in what she’s wearing, and Nicky only cares if his clothes cover him. Most of the time.

Joe loves every iteration of Nicky, but he has a special fondness for Nicky in Malta. In the house that has been theirs for centuries, wearing nothing but his own skin and kissed by the sun. Or the moon. Joe isn’t fussy; his Nicky is always the most beautiful person there is.

He isn’t the only person who has noticed.

This is a man who inspired Michelangelo. A man who set most of Renaissance Italy alight with inspiration. A man who has been asked to walk for every single major fashion designer of the twentieth century. A man who has been lusted after and admired by men and women the world over.

Nicky is Joe’s life. The moon to his sun. His heart. His soul. His everything. Joe’s reason for being. But there is no doubting that Nicolò di Genova is a complete and utter fashion disaster.

Joe doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t understand how it is possible.

Especially these days. Once you got past the giant cross on his chest and the general unwashed state of the Frankish army, Joe didn’t think that there would be anything worse than the baggy tunics and chainmail of the Crusades. Then there had been the Medieval era and the reign of Queen Elizabeth; far too much fabric and the ruffs had chafed on Joe’s impulsiveness when it came to intimacy with his husband. The colours of non-Western clothing looked beautiful on his beloved but gave far too much coverage for Joe to fully appreciate his Nicky’s … attributes. The less said about the 1980’s with their hideous shell suits and Nicky’s inexplicable love for them the better.

Joe didn’t think it could be worse than them but apparently it was possible.

Or Nicky had managed to make it so.

Ugly shirts that were far too big for him. Cargo pants that, while Nicky claimed their usefulness, were fucking ugly. Joe couldn’t always complain about the shirts; Nicky had a terrible habit - that Joe indulged wherever possible – of stealing Joe’s shirts and they never quite fit properly. Hoodies that could be drawn up to hide that face with its distinctive bone structure and incredible eyes. But the pants? They were a stain on humanity, and nothing could convince Joe otherwise.

There had been a few times over the years where Joe had thanked the fashion of the time though.

The Renaissance brought conflict. The breeches shamefully hid the glory that was Nicky’s arse, but those broad shoulders laced into the doublets were glorious. There was no doubting how good Nicky looked, but Joe hadn’t dealt well with the number of people looking at _his_ partner. Same with the 1700’s; more than once, Andy had had to literally drag Joe out of the door when he couldn’t resist his beloved in the tight white trousers that were fashionable at the time. Similarly, the 1970’s and their tight suits in what seemed like every colour of the rainbow that had kept Joe in a perpetual state of thirst.

Joe had Nile to thank for the latest discovery. She was the one who introduced him to the wonders of online shopping and the realisation that, while he may hate many things about modern fashion, there are a few things to be grateful for. He wouldn’t exactly go as far as saying that he’s a dedicated follower of fashion but, well, Joe appreciates clothes that fit and feel comfortable, as well as looking good. Even so, he can’t help but utter a warning when he sees Nile shopping online one evening.

“I’m pretty sure that getting clothes delivered to a safehouse prevents it from being a safehouse.”

“And that’s why VPN’s, private browsers and collection points exist. Besides, immortal or not, underwear is uncomfortable enough; I’m not giving up the one place I’ve found that I actually like.”

Joe can’t really say too much about that, but something catches his eye as Nile scrolls through the site. “What is that?”

“Lingerie for me… oh no, I know way too much about your sex life with Nicky as it is. You want to explore that; you do it when I’m far away.”

If Joe’s finger happens to slip on a confection of silk and lace almost the exact same sea-foam shade as Nicky’s eyes and designed for his body later that evening, well that’s between him, one of his many bank accounts and a parcel collection point.

~*~

“Tesoro?”

Joe looked up from his sketch to see Nicky stood in the doorway, a scrap of sea-foam silk and lace hanging from his index finger and one eyebrow arched in silent question.

“Nicolò… it is not what you think.”

“You presume to know what I think, Yusuf?”

Joe chuckled as Nicky came closer, allowing Joe to tug him forward until he was not quite straddling Joe’s lap. “Never, habibi. I found them on a website when Nile was shopping. They are specifically designed for men these days and well,” Joe shrugged unrepentantly, “they were the same shade as your eyes. How could I resist?”

“Hmm.” Nicky leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to Joe’s lips, “I thought I would make pastilla tonight. Do you have a preference?”

“Seafood?”

Nicky never brought up the lingerie again and Joe followed his lead. It wasn’t as though he was afraid of the answer, but he knew how his husband worked. He would be stupid not to after the best part of a century together. Nicky was processing. He would bring up the lingerie again when he was ready.

~*~

Given that Nicky had never broached the subject since that first time, Joe wasn’t remotely prepared for the fact that the next time he saw the aqua lingerie it was on his husband’s body. Just the briefest of flashes but it was enough to stop Joe in his tracks.

They were on a mission. Or had been on a mission. Chile. Nicky had been perched on a roof for the best part of three days. Nearly 72 hours without sleep, without moving. 72 hours straight of concentration. It had started raining on the second day, but Nicky hadn’t been able to move. Hadn’t been willing to. Had ended up soaked to the bone. Only when the mission had been completed successfully had he agreed to move and, even then, he had needed assistance; his muscles become stiff and immoveable in the process. Joe had thrown his leather jacket around Nicky’s shoulders and, as he pulled Nicky up, had seen that aqua flash. But his priority had been getting Nicky back to the safehouse, back to somewhere warm.

Only then did Joe allow himself to process what he had seen.

It was helped by a new visual. Of Nicky stripping himself with hands that shook from the cold. Joe’s jacket dropping to the floor along with the afore-mentioned godawful cargo pants, shirt that was approximately two sizes too big and a t-shirt that Joe was pretty sure had once belonged to him. and then Nicky was standing in front of him in nothing but sea-foam lace and silk. Fabric that Joe hadn’t even realised were missing from his belongings, so enmeshed was he with Nicky.

_“Sante Maria, madre de dio.”_ Joe has never seen anything like it in all of his years. He didn’t even realise that he had spoken out loud until Nicky’s lips curved upwards. And then Nicky moved, shifting his hips just so that they emphasised the curve of his arse and Joe’s brain short circuited.

“They’re surprisingly comfortable actually.”

“Hmm?” Joe could hear that Nicky was talking but the actual words? They were beyond comprehension. He was too distracted.

“ _Cuore mio_ , is everything okay?”

“You are a feast for the senses, ya amar.”

“A feast you would like to indulge in, yes?”

Joe leaned in and pressed a kiss to Nicky’s lips. “This day and ever after, mio amore.”

**Author's Note:**

> It may have taken me a long time to get here but please feel free to come and flail with me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/vix_spes
> 
> Please also let me know if you'd like more of this.


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